


Held

by mugsandpugs



Series: A24 [2]
Category: Midsommar (2019)
Genre: Character Study, College, Cults, F/F, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Human Sacrifice, Manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-06-24 06:18:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19717930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mugsandpugs/pseuds/mugsandpugs
Summary: Do you feel held?





	1. Pelle

**Author's Note:**

> (shows up with Starbucks and sugar cookies)  
> Welcome welcome; Ari Aster is a genius; I want to live in Hårga; also I enjoy the twisted dynamics of Dani/Pelle's interactions, but at heart I'm still a big ol' queer, and femslash is life.
> 
> I've seen some theories floating around that the cult had a hand in Dani's family's deaths, and I LIKE those theories, but in this particular fic I'm not using it. In this fic, her family's death was a coincidence.

Pelle had known Maja since they were born -- literally within moons of one another. Ingmar said that they'd played together on the same blankets; suckled the same teats. Her hair grew red as fire; snapping angrily in the breeze, hot and ever-changing with her moods. Pelle was always a little bit in awe of, a little intimidated by, his "cousin."  
  
Maja was sharp as the crack of a whip; fast as a striking snake with her words and her fists. Most of the boys, and quite a few of the girls, knew never to get between Maja and whatever she wanted.  
  
"Maja," the Elders scolded, the stringing vowels and rasped consonants of svenska flowing so naturally from their wizened old lips. "There is no 'mine,' only 'ours.' You must learn to share, hjärtanskär, or your seasons will be tainted by emptiness and dissatisfaction."

So Maja hunched her shoulders and tucked her head and kept her screams of "Mine, mine!" inside her heart, where they blistered so hot that her hair grew all the redder, never bleaching in the sun.

Still, though, her hands were quick to grab the newest toys, the softest blankets, the largest oat cakes.

They grew, as children do, and then they grew apart. Pelle was a boy, a strong boy, a handsome boy, a boy with above-average intelligence, and so the Elders and the Teachers worked to educate he and his brother in English and Western culture. They would journey to the West one day and bring others into the Hårgan embrace-- whether to grow the population with their seed or grow the crops with their decomposition; both were equally important.  
  
Maja seethed, as she always did when she thought others were getting something she wasn't. "Why must _I_ scrub and sew clothes with the women?!" she'd demand. "Why must I bake pies and gut herring? You teach _Pelle_ to read and write and add numbers!"

"You have your role, and he has his; as the mountain has his role, and the ash tree; hers, and the stream; theirs, and the wind; its. So long as everybody follows their set path, we will have harmony. Fight it, and you bring rot and ruin and curses."  
  
She did not find that a satisfactory answer. Perhaps it was true what the Elders had prophesized; if she always wished to own the world, then she would never know satisfaction.  
  
Whatever the reason, she took her frustration out on Pelle and considered herself a playmate of his no more. They did not dance to the beat of drums. They did not split fruits and barley wine, or sleep side by side, and when they were old enough for curious fumbles in the dark, it was never Pelle's skin she sought, preferring instead the sweeter touch of girls' hands.

Still, though, on two occasions did their paths cross. The first was shortly after their twelfth year, upon the arrival of her first blood. When he noticed the bottom of her white shift stained with spreading red, he was assigned to walk her to the womens' tent, to stand guard all night as she contemplated motherhood in song.

(She was so small, he found himself marveling; short and delicate while so many of their peers were growing like weeds in the bracing Swedish winds...)

The second notable incident was in the summer of their fifteenth year. It had been a cursed year for Hårga; a winter that lasted far too long; spring rains that became floods. A killing sickness that swept fast as a plague throughout the henhouses; a rot to the potatoes; and finally this terrible drought withering the crops before they had a chance.

They turned to their scribe, the inbred Rasmus, who would one day become the father of Scribe Ruben, who drew his will in their scriptures. There was to be a sacrifice, the scriptures said; the land needed to be filled with the ashes from mature lovers, and only then would the spirits restore peace. Deny this, and the following winter would be barren to the death of many.

A feast was held, though there wasn't enough food to be bountiful, and a dance, though it was so hot nobody much cared to move. A lottery was rolled, and Pelle felt the bottom of his stomach drop out when it was his father's name called.

He and Ingmar, his brother by blood, made eye contact across the crowd, and then in unison looked towards their parents, who stood with hands clasped and shoulders high. They would not shirk their duty to land and people. They would accept their fate with humble dignity.

They slept under the stars that night; the four of them together. Mother and Father and Ingmar and Pelle. Few words were spoken, but love bloomed hot, and at dawn the women took Mother and the Elders took Father, to dress them and wet their lips and eyelashes and genitals with yew, to lead them in prayer.

The commune watched as their heads were struck with mallets, as droplets of red shot into the sky and then fell, spraying every which way, staining the white of their robes.

With much ceremony, Pelle's parents were carried to the temple and set ablaze. Just outside, the commune razed and rejoiced in rhapsody, singing and screaming and weeping and dancing. Ingmar seized Pelle's hands and pressed them to his face, howling into his younger brother's palms as they were orphaned together, as the pyre grew and smoked the skyline from sight. The commune's sins were purged by fire, and in the ashes they'd prosper.

Pelle felt nothing but numb, even as Ingmar wept into his hands. Even as chaos reigned around them. Sound seemed to be coming from very far away, as he could only stare at the licking orange flames burning their temple to the ground.

Out of nowhere did Maja arrive, brighter even than the fire. And though she was tiny, her arms were strong when she pulled Pelle to her; when she touched his right shoulder and he touched hers. When they brought their foreheads, the flats of their noses together, and exchanged life's breath.

They stood that way, the eye of a storm, and behind them, the temple collapsed in sparking embers, and his pain was hers, and when she cried, so could he.  
  
When their springs became summers, Pelle was assigned to an American university; Ingmar, to a London one, all the while Maja was given care over the sick, and made a deliverer of babies. It was not the work she wanted, he knew, but the Elders had decreed it, and so it was done.  
  
Pelle left for America four months before the school semester began, keeping a close eye on the fashion and behavior of men his age. Several mistook his attention for attraction, which was fine; he wasn't one to object to back-alley kisses rough with stubble, to hands shoved down the tight, restrictive band of his jeans.  
  
"You're different," one of the American men told him, looking up into his eyes with a furrow on his brow.  
  
Pelle laughed. "Because I am Swedish?" he asked in warmly accented English.  
  
"No..." the man bit his lip, shaking his head as he tried to puzzle it all out. There was so much variety in these Americans! Their skin ranged from palest cream to darkest night. They came short, tall, heavy or thin, hairy or tattooed, pierced or plain. It was endless, wondrous delight; this journey he was on. "I can't quite put my finger on it, but..."  
  
"So put your fingers on something else," Pelle responded with a boyish, teasing grin, and drew him up for another kiss.  
  
It was amusing hearing these spoilt students complain of sharing a dorm room with other men. Goodness; Pelle had grown up sleeping in the same, enormous room as all the others, boys and girls both, of his season. "Mine" and "not mine," the Americans were obsessed. "My" girlfriend. "My" car. "My" family. "My" personal space. Perhaps Maja should have been born here, after all.

Josh was the first to try and befriend him on more than just a superficial level, though nothing but his ambition and avarice filled his eyes.  
  
"Tell me about Sweden," he said; demanded, really, though he tried to play it off as casual.  
  
So funny, these westerners. They never wanted you to know how badly they _wanted_ something.  
  
Pelle sprawled back on his bed, a grin on his face, and looked consideringly at Josh. "What do you want to know?" he asked.

Through Josh he met Mark -- a dull-witted but honest boy whom Pelle rather liked -- and Christian; an arrogant braggart who'd never had an original thought in his life.

He spent a lot of time around them, because Josh refused to leave him alone. Pelle was the breathing object of Josh's academic ardor, after all. Every time he turned around, he had notes, laptops, photographs shoved in his face, with Josh impatiently demanding specifications on midvinterblot and Lucia Day; the cultural significance of Toarps församling; the exact recipe for blåbärssoppa.

Through too much time with these peers, he learned Mark was a wannabe-player; Josh had little interest in women (asexual, or possibly closeted gay); and Christian was newly involved with some poor doll who could do so much better, though he clearly thought the opposite.  
  
"Yeah, she's cute," he'd said, on more than one occasion. "But she's got so _many_ hangups, you know? First it was 'lets wait til our third date.' Then after the third date it was, 'sorry; I'm on my period.' Man, if Dani bleeds as much as she _says_ she does, she should be on iron pills, or something."

"Maybe she's Mormon," Josh suggested, hitting the blunt twice before passing it to Pelle.  
  
"Maybe she's gay!" Mark hooted, halfway to stoned already. "Ask if she's got any hot lesbian friends to 'help her with her anxiety.'"  
  
"If she's gay, why would she want Christian?" Josh snapped irritably.  
  
"I don't know, maybe she's gay _and_ Mormon. Maybe Christian is like, the cover story for her family."  
  
"She's not Mormon," Christan snapped. _"Or_ gay. She does have anxiety, though. She's like... On pills for it, and everything. I heard her little sister was _bipolar."_ He whispered this last part like it was a dirty word.  
  
"Duuuude," Mark warned, nudging him with the dirty toes of his converse. "Don't stick your dick in crazy, dude; don't you know the rules? Never turns out well."  
  
Pelle couldn't say why he was so annoyed with his "friends" at the moment. For the most part, he tuned their inane prattle out. What did he care what went on in their shallow little brains? He had higher orders to work from. But something about this day, this blunt, this group, this heat, was getting to him.  
  
"Maybe you should quit dicking her around if all you want is to get in her pants when she clearly not interested," he pointed out, eyebrows high. "Maybe you should go find someone who wants what little you have to offer, and let Dani move on."  
  
"Ooooo!!!" Mark chorused, grinning ear to ear. Josh raised his eyebrows, looking up from his notes.  
  
Christian? Christian fixed Pelle with such a blazing blue glower that for the first time, the Swedish man realized his American friend hated him as much as Pelle hated _him._

He met the infamous Dani at a house party; Christian's arm clamped around her neck as though he was trying for chummy warmth but could only accomplish a leash-like possession. She was short and moonfaced, her hair up in a messy, mouse-brown ponytail. She had wide hips and sweet eyes, and the tip of her nose turned up in a cute way Pelle instantly liked. Aside from eyeliner and lipgloss, she wore no makeup, and her clothes were loose and plain.  
  
She looked more attuned to a night of cuddles on a sofa than a noisy house party, and for a moment, Pelle imagined himself providing the sofa, the movie, the cuddles. Easing the stress wrinkle between her brows. Transforming her smile from forced to genuine.  
  
He approached with two plastic cups of beer in his hands, and lightly tapped her shoulder with one of them.  
  
"Hello," he greeted, pretending not to notice the twitchy way she jumped. He smiled warmly at her, because he knew he was tall, and he was handsome, and so many American girls were swayed on sight by his accent. "I'm Pelle; Christian's friend."  
  
"O-oh!" she stammered, and forced her smile to brighten. "Pelle; I know you! You're the exchange student!"  
  
"Ah, so you've heard of me! I am honored." His smile dimpled. Her cheeks pinked. Christian's scowl darkened. "I brought you a beer."  
  
"Uh-- oh!" She reached for it, then hesitated. She looked frightfully young. Nineteen. Twenty, _maybe._ He wondered if she was thinking of what her mother no doubt told her, about accepting open cups from strangers.  
  
Still smiling, he took an exemplary sip from both frothy cups. "No harm, see?" he promised. "Drink or don't drink, lovely lady; it is no insult to me. I only wished to say hello."

She took a cup from his hands, considered, and took a little sip. Pelle was unduly pleased.  
  
When Christian continued to stare coldly his way, Pelle turned a smoky smile on him. He touched the other beer to the American's shoulder in a gesture very akin to his homeland. Waited for Christian's hand to close around it in surprise.  
  
"Skål," he told Christian lightly, allowing his eyes to flit across the other man's mouth, and then he sauntered away with a sway in his hips.  
  
"He seems nice," he heard Dani say behind him.  
  
"I fuckin _hate_ that guy," Christian snarled in response.  
  
Pelle had to duck behind a large houseplant to hide his laughter.

Years passed. Christian and Josh went from archeology grads to post-grads. Mark _almost_ graduated a few times. Dani fussily changed her major thrice before settling on business, subtly pushed in that direction by her mother in Minnesota.  
  
Dani and Christian eventually had sex, though never often enough for Christian's liking. "She acts like she hates it," he grumbled. "Like it's all a big inconvenience for her."  
  
"Quit bragging about your 'big inconvenience,'" Mark grinned, popping the cap off his fourth beer. "Did you know girls can get a prolapsed uterus? I bet that makes sex hurt."  
  
"Gross! That only happens when they're like. Seventy."  
  
"Do you know that for sure? Ask her."  
  
"Yeah, sure. 'Hey Dani; Mark wondered if you happened to have a prolapsed uterus?' Pretty sure I'd notice if her organs were dangling out, dude."  
  
Pelle rolled his eyes. Josh, watching him closely, rolled his eyes also. "What are you gonna do after graduation, P?" he asked, nudging Pelle's knee with his own.  
  
Maybe because he himself was a little stoned, Pelle picked one of Josh's hands up, turning it around to study his palm. He liked the way Josh's skin was so dark on top, while his palms and soles were seashell-pink. He was going to miss this endless variety in humanity when he returned home.  
  
"Can you two maybe quit that gay shit when I'm around?" Christian, who had never quite forgiven Pelle for hitting on him, snapped. "Fuckin' yuck. I'm not a homophobe, but..."  
  
"Yeah, like we didn't have to watch you get drunk and paw at Dani last week," Mark pointed out with surprising astuteness.  
  
"That's different."  
  
"How?!"  
  
Pelle ignored them. "My family is holding a festival this summer, actually," he told Josh, still holding onto his wrist. "It's kind of a big deal. I was going to fly back and talk to my Elders about post-grad plans."  
  
"Your Elders?" Josh's dark eyes flashed in interest. His fingers closed around Pelle's hand. "Tell me about the festival?"  
  
Well, well. Pelle smiled, all teeth, and shut the trap with four little lambs inside; one for each year he'd been away.

It was originally to be just the three lambs-- Christian, Josh, and Mark. The collective deaths of Dani's entire family came as a shock to them all, right on the tail of Christian's wavering certainty to dump her.

They'd all known, through friendship osmosis, that the girl wasn't okay. She'd lost weight; a lot of it. She twitched constantly. She couldn't hold still for more than five minutes, constantly checking on her sister, who's mental illness had taken a steep nosedive.  
  
One couldn't talk to Christian in those weeks without hearing complaints of blue balls. The couple had gone from limited sex to no sex, and it'd gotten so irritating that even Pelle was hoping the man would leave his girlfriend, if only so he wouldn't have to hear the redhead's plaintive groans every time they watched a commercial where a beautiful woman seductively ate an oversized hamburger.  
  
_Then_ there came the deaths.  
  
_Then_ the funerals.

Well, funeral, singular; cremations, three. It seemed the Ardors didn't have the budget for three grave plots; three caskets; three ceremonies. It cost a fortune to die in America.  
  
"You don't have to come," Dani had said, dead-eyed, staring off into the middle distance. She'd put her jacket on wrong; the buttons were misaligned. Her hair looked like ruffled bird's feathers, and her mascara was smudged.  
  
Christian looked hopeful, like he was being excused from borrowed grief, but Pelle shot him a Look, and he meekly subsided. "Of course we do, babe," he'd reassured. "It's your _family."_  
  
Dani's face crumpled, as though fighting a fresh bout of tears. Christian's panic was so complete that Pelle tiredly knocked him aside, bent, and took Dani's face in his own hands.  
  
"Dani?" he said, watching her eyes attempt to slide out of focus. "Dani, breathe with me, okay?"  
  
It was the Hårgan way; allowing grief to play out in full rather than stuffing it down, distributing it among the commune. If one of them screamed, they all screamed. If one of them wept, well...  
  
Pelle decided not to go so very far; not at first. Dani was not ready for such an intense connection. Yet.  
  
But he did breathe with her; breathed hard and loud and slow, until she had no choice but to mimic him, falling into sync. Her forehead touched his, and in his heart Pelle was glad. She was ready for his way of life. Somewhere deep down, she was _ready!_ He'd found a rare, special thing in Dani, and someday...  
  
But not now. Not yet. For now, they breathed. And after they'd breathed, Pelle fixed her jacket, and her hair, and he licked his thumb to rub the makeup off her cheeks. And all the while, Christian watched him with the kind of relief a civillian watched a firefighter put out a blazing building with. Dani scared Christian, Pelle realized. She'd become an unpredictable animal in his eyes.  
  
Pelle didn't have to attend the funeral, no, but he was curious, and he didn't want Dani to get away so fast. How different it was; the way they burned their dead versus the way the Hårga did. By burning, their souls were released into the ether. By planting the ashes, the dead grew, lived, again.  
  
Not in America. In America, the ashes were scooped into pots and kept on Dani's mantle like a constant reminder of all she'd lost. When her extended family embraced her, they did so in great sorrow. To them, dead meant gone. To the Hårgan, death was just a door to something else.  
  
No wonder Dani was so sad. No wonder she felt so alone. What choice did Pelle have but to show her a better way?

It made his heart ache to step out of her life, then, to leave her alone for the last six months of the semester, but it was imperative she felt isolated; felt like she had nothing left to lose. The commune life integrated best for those with yearning souls; people who wanted more desperately than anything to belong to _something._  
  
She had to be alone, had to spend days upon days crying in bed, skipping meals, failing classes, so that she would later know true connectedness. She had to starve so she would know the fullness of good food. She had to weep so she could know joy. It was the only way.

For a while, he feared Christian might still not invite her to the festival. The man was selfish, and stupid, and was always encouraged down inconvenient paths by Mark; who thought with his penis, and Josh; who thought with his grades.

In the end, Pelle had to take the man out for a midnight stroll with beer that Christian didn't know was spiked with shrooms before he agreed it wasn't a bad plan. Pelle even let him think he'd come up with it on his own; that he was a good and understanding boyfriend.

Finally, though; _finally._ Their bags were packed and they were high, high in the air. His time in America had come to an end. Very shortly, the lives of his lambs would, too. That was alright. They would serve a much better purpose in the next realm.  
  
Midsommar had officially begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • hjärtanskär = sweetheart  
> • midvinterblot = ancient Christmas celebration (Pagan Pelle wouldn't celebrate it).  
> • Lucia Day = Saint Lucy's feast day (Christian, so Pagan Pelle wouldn't celebrate it).  
> • Toarps församling = a famous Christian parish  
> • blåbärssoppa = blueberry soup  
> • Skål = cheers  
> 


	2. Maja

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is unfinished. I'm not physically or mentally well enough to write the ending. Here's what I wrote before I had to quit.

Ingmar had arrived several days prior with his two Londoners, and everyone in the commune had been entranced by their accents; their candid way of speaking.  
  
Not Maja, of course. Maja was not so easily impressed. Not on the outside, anyway. She still eavesdropped on what the foreigners had to say, but always from a distance.  
  
Maja had not seen Pelle in four years and four months, and now he pulled up in Torbjörn's truck and smiled at her like nothing was different; like nothing had changed.

Pelle had grown taller, and he had that stupid scruffy facial hair all the American boys favored, while Maja had only grown bitter and tired, her hands rough from daily hard labor.

He brought with him four Americans; three male, one female. The foreign man with hair a darker shade of red than her own had an arm around the woman's neck, like he had some sort of claim on her.  
  
Maja spied on them all as Pelle toured them around, offering introductions and mushrooms. The woman put up a fuss about that last part, until her partner subtly pressured her into sampling the drugs, and then she succumbed to a cup of "herbal" tea.

Maja had never much cared for women who did whatever men said just because they were expected to. There were a couple girls in the commune who...  
  
Well. Anyway.  
  
Pelle managed to track her down eventually, a smile on his face, gifts in his hands. "I brought you something, älskling." he crooned, offering books and chocolates and fabric and all manner of other goodies.  
  
Maja scowled and snatched the bags out of her birthmate's hands, turning away without a word of thanks or greeting.  
  
His laugh was deep and booming when he seized her 'round the waist, hauling her off her feet in a rib-creaking hug.  
  
"Unhand me, stupid man, or I'll feed your testicles to the bear!" Maja snarled in enraged svenska, attempting to kick his shins, and Pelle smiled against her shoulder before setting her back on her bare heels.  
  
"I see you haven't changed, Sour Maja," he teased warmly as she stomped away over the tall green grass, angry as a cat straight out of the bath. "I missed you, too!"  
  
Maja stuffed chocolate-covered hazelnuts into her mouth so nobody would see her smile.

The girl -- Dani, she was called -- did not respond well to the natural effects of the mushrooms. At first it seemed she might become one with the pulse of the earth, but then she waded too deep, took a wrong turn, and became frightened; monsters crawling up from deep within the well of her mind to poison her thoughts.  
  
She sprinted, screaming, crying, throughout the camp. Fleet as a fox, Maja kept on her heels for many long minutes until Dani at last collapsed amongst the trees, lying prone like a scorned bride from an old myth, tears staining her freckled cheeks.  
  
Maja waited a long time in the branches of a spruce until it became clear Dani was not going to move again, and then she cautiously climbed down and landed, padding to her side.  
  
She flipped the silly girl onto her back, but kept her head tilted in case she should vomit. Her chest rose and fell without trouble. It was warm enough outside that Maja didn't fear danger from exposure. Plenty of people slept outdoors this time of year and were just fine.  
  
"Mom..." Dani murmured, twin tear tricks wetting her face, shining in the dappled light through the leaves. Maja knew enough English to understand the word.  
  
With the sleeve of her ceremonial shift, she scrubbed the girl's face dry. Nobody, not even a stupid, soft American girl, deserved to cry alone in the woods for their mother. When Dani's hand rose, Maja took it.  
  
It would be irresponsible to abandon her out here. There were bears and lynxes and wolves, and though they were fat from summer plenty, it was best not to test the willpower of nature. Maja might have been able to carry Dani over her shoulders, if she really made an effort, but if anyone saw her, they'd tease her relentlessly for being so "heroic."  
  
She wasn't a hero, damn it; she simply wasn't a wasteful fool who wished to destroy a sacrifice before it was time!  
  
She waited an hour, perhaps more, in the unchanging sunlight until she heard a crunch of several clumsy, approaching footsteps, and then she shimmied back up her tree, spying from above.  
  
It was the Americans, guided by Pelle.  
  
"Why would she be in the _woods?!"_ The redhead asked disgustedly. "I'm tired. Can we go back?"  
  
"Dude, she's _your_ girlfriend," retorted the thin one; the one who looked most like a child. "Whom _you_ demanded we bring along."  
  
"So that means I'm her babysitter?"  
  
Pelle, used to tracking in the woods, spotted her first. Maja saw the worry knitting his brows quickly fade to relief when he saw that Dani was breathing, and she knew, knew, _knew,_ that Pelle liked her; that Pelle liked Dani.  
  
That Pelle liked Dani far _too_ much.  
  
Maja shifted her leg, deliberately knocking a dried leaf from the branch she hid on. It fluttered down into Pelle's line of sight. He didn't look up; barely changed his posture at all; but he knew Maja, knew how she operated, and now he knew exactly where she was. That she was watching closely.  
  
"Is she okay?" The boy with dark skin knelt by Dani's side, taking her wrist in one long-fingered hand. "Should we carry her back?"  
  
"Let's just let her be," said Pelle, sitting with his back to the tree Maja occupied. "I could use a rest, myself."  
  
"What, just stay out here?" whined the redhead. "In the middle of the fuckin' woods? What if there are bears and shit?"  
  
"There are," Pelle smiled. "Plenty of bears, and more than a moderate amount of 'shit.' Sometimes in life, Christian, you need to face both."  
  
It wasn't expressly clear in his voice, but one glance at his face told Maja everything she needed to know: Pelle did not care for Christian; not at all. If Christian felt uncomfortable waiting in the woods for his girlfriend to wake, well, that just made it all the more amusing for Pelle.

Maja settled in for a long wait, making herself comfortable on her branch, meditating with the pulse of the trees while still keeping an ear on the conversations below. She imagined roots branching from her empty womb, wrapping and blossoming around the tree until she and it were the same.  
  
She was expected to spawn soon, to transform from maiden to mother, and she would need to pick a man to seed her. She'd never had much interest in men, and having delivered countless babies, birth had lost much of its magic. But the elders said it was her time, and there was some appeal to fruiting a new life; to continuing her natural cycle.  
  
She didn't want any man from the commune, that was for sure. He might think he had ownership over her child, or worse; her life. He might try to issue commands and mistakenly expect them to be followed; might expect her to lie with him whenever the urge struck.

Perhaps it would be better to pick an intended sacrifice for the father of her child. Why not let one of these men seed and die, as natural as a Mayfly or a migrating salmon?

When she again opened her eyes, she was alone in the woods, her legs numb, the grass below her empty. She slipped from her tree and padded towards where everyone else was getting ready for bed.  
  
A branch snapped behind her, and she whirled, immediately on the defensive. She remembered tracking this year's bear down with the other young people, how difficult it had been to catch and subdue it without killing or seriously hurting it. She remembered past hunts; girls with great gaping holes in their stomachs; men with fangs buried in their chests. A single sweep of such a mighty paw could crush an adult's skull. She'd seen it happen with her own eyes.  
  
But it wasn't a bear standing behind her, wishing vengeance for its caged brother. It was Pelle.  
  
"Didn't your mother teach you not to follow girls in the woods?!" Maja snarled, angrier than usual for how scared he'd made her feel, even if just for a moment.  
  
She wished she hadn't said it a moment later. She remembered exactly what had happened to Pelle's mother. But she was Maja, so she didn't apologize. She only crashed forward onto a new topic. "What did you want?"  
  
"Your help." He moved like he wanted to walk with her, so she resumed her forward stride. His legs were longer, but she was fueled by fire and spite, so they kept the same pace.  
  
"Ah, you've gone native. You want my help acquiring a new identity so you may live as an American forever."  
  
"What?" Pelle laughed. "You and your imagination. I want no such thing."  
  
"Then you want the girl."  
  
Pelle nearly tripped over his own big feet. Maja did not slow as he recovered, and he had to jog to catch up. His lack of coordination cemented what Maja had already known just looking at his face when he'd found Dani. She knew things, Maja did.  
  
Pelle didn't admit to it. He didn't have to. Instead he said, "I think Christian should be this year's bear."  
  
Oh, now, this was interesting. Maja turned towards Pelle, touching her fingertips together and resting her chin on them in a mockery of rapt attention. _"Do_ tell me more."  
  
He did, listing all of Christian's sins in the exhaustive minutiae of a true obsessive. Would-be lovers paid a lot of attention to each other, but enemies watched one another ever so much more closely. If one hated somebody enough, it almost became erotic.  
  
Maja listened, amused and quiet, and when Pelle had worked himself into a true rage of hatred towards the redheaded man, Maja placed a consoling hand on his arm. It would have been sincere, were she not so smug. "Alright, dear. I will convince everyone -- the May Queen especially -- who the bear must be."  
  
Pelle frowned. "But how can you know who the May Queen will be?"  
  
Oh, to be so simple, to never have the greater plan in sight. Maja reached up to pat Pelle's cheek. "Because, darling. We'll rig the game. _We_ will choose the May Queen."  
  
Pelle blinked, intrigued and surprised. "Oh?"  
  
"Yes. On one condition. Confess to me the truth: You _want_ Christian to be the bear so you can have his prize. Doesn't that make _you_ the true bear at heart?"  
  
Pelle hung his head in shame, but the greed never once left his eyes.

* * *

Operation "make Christian a bear" began almost immediately. Fortunately for Maja, so did her monthly menses.  
  
She stood in the kitchen with a small rubber cup brimming with her own blood. Typically the blood was poured into the gardens to enrich the crops, but not today. Today, she poured it into a bowl instead. A lock of her nether hair joined the red puddle.  
  
She fetched a burlap bag of powder and set to creating a batch of meat pies.  
  
"A love spell, pet?" asked one of the croaky old elders. "Is there a man who's heart you crave?"  
  
"Oh, yes!" Maja flashed her a euphoric smile, kneading her blood and hair into a fine paste with the flour. They wouldn't have meat pies until the next night, but she'd make sure to keep her special dough separate from all the rest. If she wanted Christian to fall in love with her, well...  
  
Well. She'd already tucked a love poppet beneath Christian's bed while his "lady love" thrashed and groaned in her nightmares. It was only a matter of time before he forgot her, and started reaching for Maja instead.  
  
Maja was doing Dani a favor, truly. A man who's heart was _that_ weak was hardly worth anyone's time.

* * *

It wasn't necessarily _difficult_ to convince the women that Dani must become the May Queen, but it was certainly time-consuming, and required a lot of bargains and favors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • älskling - darling/honey


End file.
